


Star Of The Show

by Spectre_Cross



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: AU - No Powers, Adult... Themes, Basically If You're 12 Go Away, Gay, M/M, No Sex Just Wally Being Gay and Dick Being Beautiful, Older Work, One Shot, Other, Security Guard Wally West, So Gay You'll Poop Rainbows, Stripper Dick Grayson, Suggestive Themes, kind of, nothing graphic, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 02:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15475644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectre_Cross/pseuds/Spectre_Cross
Summary: Wally knows from experience exactly what it means to love the way he does.He knows that the man he chose will hold his eye for however long he wishes it. He knows that his love for Dick is stronger than he ever really acknowledges aloud.Because even there, in that club, surrounded by writhing bodies and almost smothered by the heat, he has eyes for only one person.





	Star Of The Show

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a change of pace from No Hero Like Me. Short and Sweet, a little bit of a suggestive ending, but it's always nice to leave one's imagination to run free.  
> Tell me what you think!

At this time of night, Dick's club is like a storm.

Every thunderous beat of the music seems to shake the building - hell, I wouldn't be surprised if the entire world quaked with the force of it. The very blood in my veins felt like it was humming - a burning buzz, all through my body.

The people, on the open floor, moved in time with the noise. It was a sensual, powerful dance - each body moving on its own, but somehow still in sync. The beat set its commanding rhythm, and the crowd responded without a hitch - a predatory, thriving creature, a mechanism without a flaw, not a movement out of place.

There were laughs, barely audible between the near-deafening tones of whatever song was on - laughs and shouts and drunken singing. I caught the flashes of teeth - a wide grin, a tiny little smile, eyes sparkling in the flashing lights.

There was this feeling, hanging around like a mist of pure, unadulterated emotion - a chaos that had me dizzy, wondering which way was up and which was down, but left that... warmth, settled deep in my belly.

It was probably the alcohol. My existence feels like tequila.

Whenever I spent time at SIN2, off duty, I always found myself absolutely entranced by the place. It was... numbing, really. The music was loud enough that I couldn't think beyond what I wanted for my next drink, the place so crowded with people that whenever I moved I could only become even more aware of the warmth of their bodies, brushing against my own. The lights flashed with no particular order, only adding to the absolute anarchy below - red-blue-white-red-purple-yellow-blue-white.

(I don't think the crowd would even notice if a supervillain walked in and fired off a few shots. Perhaps that was why they so often chose to disappear into our midst.

That's okay, though. My job exists for a reason.)

Strange. It was a thing that I noticed easily - when I was on-duty, I knew everything. I knew where everyone was. I could barely hear the pounding music, didn't pay heed to the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor.

My gaze, as it so often was, was drawn to the dancers - the strippers.

On duty, they were my charges - I watched them warily, having to be ready constantly in case something happened to one of them and I had to step forward. When I was working, I noticed only when they felt pain and distress.

Nothing else mattered.

When I was simply spending my night out at the club, however...

They were by far the best part.

I knew quite well that the employees at SIN2 weren't the ordinary naughty-sexy-dancing girls. Mostly because half of the dancers were guys.

I knew all their names by now - the Strippers had taken to introducing me to every new employee as the Gay Messiah.

It was a strange name for a security guard who doubled as a medic, but whatever.

Tonight, Chastity had taken to the stage again after several weeks off, and was joined by Faith and Trix - they always performed as a trio.

The safety measures hadn't originally been accepted, but they'd found out quite quickly how much better they worked as a team.

I almost regretted it. They were devastating, so beautiful and full of grace and strength. Angels, almost, stuck in sin.

Chastity - a cliche stage name if ever I heard one - tended to take the lead. She was strong, bronzed skin sparkling in the lights and golden hair glinting far more brilliantly than the precious metal ever could. She and dark-haired Trix gravitated towards each other, smiling sensually and moving with an intimacy that could belong between close friends or lovers.

Faith, all red hair and blushing cheeks and the picture of a nervous virgin, tended to play it a little bit more reserved. She could be a real vicious woman, though. She was ferocious if you fucked with her or her group.

A wolf in sheep's clothing.

I snort quietly to myself, tearing my attention away from their performance.

Of course, across the room from the girls, there were the men.

I could wax poetry for hours about how beautiful the girls are, but any time I even thought of glancing over to the other side of the room, I felt the full force of my gayness crashing over me.

A short note, about the male dancers - they're so overly attractive it's almost unfair.

It was Lucky and Don on the flanking stages tonight - the tall redhead and his partner, who was broad at the shoulders but narrow at the waist. Don and Lucky were the more notorious dancers - they tended to stray to the middle stage and dance together, much like Chastity and Trix.

You know. Minus the fact that Lucky and Don have no sense of common decency.

(Even in a night club, their movements are borderline obscene. There was, after all, a reason they were so popular among the ladies and gents alike.)

Man-hoes, I'd call them, whenever they sat down to drink with me. Shameless, dirty man-hoes who need to go live somewhere they weren't crushing my self esteem.

And then...

Of course, then there was the fucking star.

I'll say right now - Trix was the best of all the girl dancers. The way she twisted and wound her body around the other two women was hypnotising, like watching a snake slither and slide through a maze. She never faltered, never stumbled.

The only one who really beat her out for top spot was the god-damned devil himself himself.

The dark king, the crowds call him - someone had come up with a weird fantasy story about him being a fallen god, removed from his throne for his lecherous sins. The moment he'd read it, curled up on the couch and scrolling through the feed on his facebook, he'd laughed and adopted it as the true story. He even wore rings on his fingers, and when he was feeling pompous, a golden circlet around his head.

Honestly, though, dark king suited him - not because he was dark-haired or rugged, though he certainly was, but because he was so...

So perfectly, dangerously beautiful. An ethereal being. A devilish, handsome mystery with a secret, dark smile that he occasionally tossed out to the crowd to make their knees weak.

A predator.

(Or textbook super villain.)

He was beautiful even when he was completely still. His hair, raven-dark and always soft to the touch no matter how much he danced, curled at the nape of his neck like some sort of heavenly shroud. The brilliant, silvery-blue colour of his eyes always seemed to glow, glinting and gleaming and sparkling, lacking the warmth that I had become familiar with. Dressed as he was, tonight, what was visible of his perfect, marble skin sparkled with both glitter and sweat. The little clothing he wore left near-nothing to the imagination.

The fishnets contrasted starkly with the skin of his legs. The leather pants, barely more than panties...

He was by far the most appealing dancer, and everyone knew it.

He knew it, too - every single movement he made was confident. He had that smirk on his lips, right now - the one that said 'I'm the sexiest person in the room, and I damn well know it'.

He was strong, and steady, but he moved with such grace and control that he could be nothing other than a king - bathed in the signature blue spotlight that meant he was here. Right now, he had his legs clamped firmly around a pole, holding himself at an angle that made his abs stand in contrast and the shadows on his face look deeper, almost sinister.

And that smile? The way the light glinted off his teeth?

Incredible.

He was so... steady, so _flawless_.

Dick the Stripper, I thought bemusedly to myself, catching his icy blue gaze and holding it even as he moved his body with that smooth, sensual grace that he always carried himself with. Dick the Super-Stripper.

(The real hero in the room. A Super-Stripper.)

I turned away, throwing him a lazy peace sign as a goodbye. His laugh was audible over the music - clear and bell-like, and just for me.

He'd be home around midnight - probably clothed as scantily as he was now, and shameless.

He'd probably be naked by the time he got to our bedroom, leaving the leather and fishnets strewn in a lazy path towards the door.

Oh well. He wouldn't need clothes for what I had planned, anyway.

(I'm no Superman. No Batman or Wonder Woman. But I know how to take him apart and leave him gasping, and damned if that isn't a better superpower than anything they can boast.)


End file.
